


Playing Doctor

by dreadwolftakeme



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Kissing, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 18:47:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5596822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreadwolftakeme/pseuds/dreadwolftakeme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Random one-shot. Fenris is injured on a mission with Hawke. Hawke takes it upon herself to make him all better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing Doctor

Back at the camp, Marian was mercifully quick to attend to Fenris’s wounds. No sooner had Anders set the elf down (and received a reprimanding punch for his less-than-gentle transportation), she whisked him away to her tent as fast as his injured leg could carry him.

     He had never been in a woman’s personal domain before, unless he counted the times Hadriana had summoned him to her quarters - which he didn’t, for she barely classed as a woman in his eyes. Marian’s tent was so very different from theirs and not just because it had more space. Her low bunk was furnished with lavish looking fabrics in hues of scarlet and gold. Her affects were neatly organised, as opposed to thrown in a clumsy pile in the corner, and on top of a smart, leather trunk were a selection of intricate glass bottles in varying shapes, sizes and colours. The place even smelled nice and it did not take Fenris long to spot the source: a wreath of wild roses, hanging above the bunk.

     “You certainly haven’t picked up Carver’s bad habits, I see,” Fenris murmured in quiet appreciation, as the canvas hangings were closed behind him. “I’ve never been in a tent that didn’t smell of sweat and wet dog.”

     Marian laughed, a soft, melodic sound that warmed him in spite of his pain. He removed the bulk of his armour and sat down uneasily on the bunk as she pottered around, lighting candles to ward off the approaching dark. Then, seizing a pretty, quilted bag that had been hanging next to her spare coat, she approached him on the bunk and knelt down.

     “How is the pain?” she asked, tenderly, as she made to inspect his wound. Her hands rested lightly upon his thigh and he found his breath hitched in his throat at her touch. “I’m sorry,” she said apologetically, misinterpreting his gasp. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

     “You didn‘t,” Fenris replied, his voice carefully measured; he half expected it to tremble, to crack in some way that might betray his anxiety. Part of him thought this was a bad idea, after everything that had happened between them; the other part would have readily stabbed his other leg just for an excuse to feel that touch again. Luckily for that Fenris, such measures weren’t necessary.

     “Can you hitch these up a little?” Marian asked, indicating his pants. “I don’t want to get salve all over them.”

     Fenris nodded and, hesitating only for a second, he rolled the fabric up and past his wound, exposing his lyrium-lined skin to her. To her credit, her eyes only lingered for the briefest of moments before returning to the site of his injury without a word. He was grateful for her silence and, feeling a little more at ease, he leant back on his hands to let her work.

     “This will probably sting,” she informed him gently, opening a delicate glass jar, “but I promise you, it’ll heal that leg up in no time at all.”

     He caught the familiar scent of lavender as she covered a single fingertip in the colourless balm. Then, with the lightest of touches, she spread a thin film over the open wound. He had expected the pain but he hissed nevertheless as the substance touched his skin, grimacing. It stung for a moment, just as she’d said, but the pain was soon gone, replaced by a pleasant, soothing warmth.

     “An interesting concoction,” he said, appreciatively. “Wherever did you acquire it?”

     “My father,” Marian replied with a faint smile, as she reached for a bandage. “Even though he was a mage, he didn’t like to rely on his powers and he’d often come up with his own non-magical remedies. This is one of the better ones and a closely guarded secret - if I told you what it was, I’d have to kill you.”

    Her smile told him she was only jesting and he smirked in response as she began to bind his injury. Her hands brushed his thigh as she worked and he was hard pressed not to blush. It had been a long time since he’d been touched in such an intimate place and the first instance she had touched him so boldly since _that night_. A familiar heat began to suffuse his body and he closed his eyes to steady himself against it. She had barely touched him and already he was aflame. He was no stranger to desire: he was mortal, after all, and as vulnerable to his body’s needs as any man. Yet this was the first time he recalled his carnality being caused by another since they’d slept together. It felt peculiar to feel his body responding so to another person. He was starting to wonder how he should behave, if now was really the time to be wallowing in such emotions, when he felt something brush the bare skin of his thigh, something too soft and pliant to be her hand. He glanced down in time to see her place another gentle kiss on his skin, just below the first. Her blue eyes flickered up to meet his, clearly looking for some sign of approval. Fenris said nothing - he could not quite summon his voice - and she took this as her cue to continue, kissing a line down his intricately patterned leg. Each touch of her velvet soft lips sent a pang of desire straight to his loins, making him hard within his pants. She paused when she reached his ankle, laving the delicate bone with the tip of her tongue. Fenris moaned, a husky sound he could barely hear over the sudden pounding of blood in his ears. He wanted this, ached for it, but his need was tainted by fear and confusion. This was strange, unfamiliar and he had no idea what he was doing.

     “Please,” he managed, his voice strained. Marian glanced up at him, her pretty face a mask of concern, her lips pursed in the most alluring of pouts.

     “Is everything alright?” she murmured. “I thought you … Maker, I’ve read this all wrong, haven’t I?”

     “No!” he insisted. “No, that is not it. It is simply… that is that I…”

     He sighed, inwardly cursing his own inadequacy. He could not comprehend how this was suddenly so difficult - Isabela made it look as natural as breathing! He craved her, that was undeniable, but his uncertainty was crippling him where it never had done so before. He knew what he wanted, what he _needed_ , but he did not know where to begin. Miraculously, Marian seemed to understand. She sat back on her haunches at his feet, her blue eyes regarding him with measured patience.

     “This is too quick,” she interpreted. “I’m sorry, I was too forward.”

    “You have no cause for apology,” Fenris asserted. “I am… being foolish.”

   Her mouth curved into a tender smile and she gave the slightest of inclinations.

    “Not at all. Perhaps we should take this slowly?” she suggested, her eyes sparkling with promise. Fenris swallowed and nodded, feeling for all the world as though the very air had vanished. He watched - and tried not to look as apprehensive as he felt - as Marian came to sit up beside him. Her very proximity set his heart pounding anew. He could not understand it - they had been closer than this before and his had not reacted like a mooning adolescent. Perhaps it was the knowledge of her intent, the promise of her words, that made his pulse quicken and his breath hitch - he could not be certain. What he did know was that his desire and his nerves seemed to grow as she inched closer, warring within him for dominance. He watched her head tilt curiously, her gaze slide seductively over his lips. The urge to seize her and the urge to flee were both strong . However, he ignored them both and simply sat with baited breath as she leaned in and pressed her lips lightly against his own. There was panic at first, his heart fluttering like a caged bird, and then hunger, triumph and delight. Her lips were as soft as he remembered and she tasted of honey. Eagerly, he pressed back into her kiss, following her lead. A dainty tongue lapped at the corners of his mouth and he opened willingly to allow her entry. The sensation was like nothing he had ever known, sending waves of pleasure south through his body and a delicate flush to his cheeks. He could not comprehend how something so simple felt so good. Marian’s arms snaked around his neck, pressing her ample bosom against his chest. More pleasure, though this time it came with a tinge of apprehension, which did not go unnoticed.

     "Relax, Fenris," she purred, kissing his neck tenderly. "We're taking this slow, there's no need to be nervous. If any of this makes you uncomfortable, you only have to say."

Uncomfortable was not the word he would have chosen but be appreciated her empathy all the same. It was wholly alien to have someone considering his feelings for once. Eager to show her he was not uncomfortable, he claimed her lips of his own accord, leaning back onto the bed and pulling her on top of him. The friction of her slender form atop his own was strangely delicious, adding to the heat that was pooling low in his belly. Just minutes ago, he would have been mortified to know she could feel the evidence of his desire. Now, he wanted her to know how much he hungered for her, that it was his inexperience, not a lack of enthusiasm, that made him hesitate. He rolled his hips experimentally into hers and was rewarded with a burst of pleasure. Marian moaned prettily into their kiss, tangling slender fingers in his snowy hair. His own hands circled her waist, pressing their hips together. The desire for more was fast outgrowing his apprehension.

      “Fenris,” Marian sighed sweetly, breaking their kiss to turn her attention to his sensitive neck.  She traced his lyrium scars with her teasing tongue and Fenris growled his approval. Lust was fast rendering him blind - it was as though all he could see was her. Her hands trailing lines of fire up his back, her lips peppering his throat with succulent kisses. When she wrapped her shapely legs around his waist, the elf thought he mightcombust. The friction was just too good, the pleasure too consuming. The urge to tear off her clothing and take her was growing stronger with each passing minute. He sought her lips again and subjected them to a delectable, open-mouthed kiss; she responded in turn by taking his tongue into her into mouth and sucking it hard. Fenris almost snarled at the pleasure that surged to his erection. He needed her, desperately, and though this was hardly how he’d imagined this moment, he knew it could be incredible all the same. His hand, until now tangled in her hair, trailed over her velvety skin, down her throat, palming a pale, pert breast. He moaned into her mouth and he was just contemplating divesting her of her shirt when he heard a footstep, a voice calling his name. The rustle of canvas was all the warning he got before Varric burst into the tent.

      “How’s the healing go-” The dwarf’s enquiry fell quiet upon his lips as he caught sight of them. For a moment, he simply stared and Fenris could feel himself blushing, though neither he nor Marian made any move to disentangle themselves. Then, with a snort of laughter, Varric’s face split into a knowing grin.

     “Well, you must be feeling better if you’re up for a tumble,” he smirked.

     “Did no one teach you to knock, dwarf?” Fenris growled, angrily, extricating himself from Marian’s embrace to sit back on the bunk.

     “It’s a little hard to knock on canvas, Broody,” came Hawke’s sardonic reply. “Besides, when you went off to get bandaged, I didn’t expect to find you molesting our illustrious leader! What will people say?”

     “Varric,” Marian began, her voice laden with warning. Varric simply laughed, shaking his head.

     “No, no,” he chortled. “Don’t let me stop you, I’ll get out of your hair…”

     And he turned on his heel, exiting the tent with as much grace as he’d employed upon entering. Fenris watched his silhouette retreat, heard him shout to the other man - “Hey Blondie, guess what?”- and let out an infuriated sigh.

     “That dwarf,” he groaned, glancing down at the woman who was still lying beneath him. Marian graced him with an utterly gorgeous smile that, five minutes ago, would have surely driven him wild with desire. However, their little heated moment had gone and it seemed he was not the one who thought so.

     “Maybe we should save this for when we get back,” she said, softly. “Short of a locked door, we’re not going to get any privacy with these lot around.”

     “Unlikely,” Fenris sighed, gathering his armour from her bunk. “No matter - I shall have to contain myself until we return to Kirkwall.”

     He knew he should probably redress but considering Anders and Varric were now wise to their previous activities, it did seem rather pointless. So he opted instead to simply tuck his breastplate under his arm, smiling at the raven haired temptress before him. She returned the gesture, following it up with a succulent kiss that stole his breath and threatened to rekindle his waning passion.

“We’ll talk later,” she whispered, and her eyes glittered with mischievous light.


End file.
